


Can You Make It Strong 'Cause I Don't Need to Think

by karotsamused



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Anal Sex, Brotherhood, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Post-Brotherhood, Power Dynamics, Series Spoilers, Spark Cloth Gloves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karotsamused/pseuds/karotsamused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed has a secret. Well, two secrets. The second one has to do with how very much he likes Roy's gloves. The first one, once discovered, requires copious amounts of alcohol to drown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Make It Strong 'Cause I Don't Need to Think

**Author's Note:**

> So I was going to keep working on this Teen Wolf story I'm writing but the finale was this weekend and I just couldn't because of emotions.
> 
> Instead, uh, Roy and Ed have sex? Yay! 
> 
> Thank you a million times to my Bean, who caught my POV switches and hauled them back around rightwise.
> 
> Title is from Dave Matthews' Band's "Bartender."

It may have been one of the longest days Roy had experienced in quite a while. Sometimes, in endless meetings and the tangled web of bureaucracy, he longed again for a broken rib or two to help keep himself awake. Physical pain was so much easier to stomach than explaining for the twentieth time that _yes_ , trade routes into Ishval needed to be maintained more carefully than some other roads because sand ate away at paving stones like saltwater ate through iron. _Yes_ , relations with Ishval needed to be nurtured because they were a good, hardworking people whose trust was hard-won and little kept.   
  
After justifying his work _again_ , because funding was a powerful motivator, Roy felt he'd bent backward for the almighty cheque quite vigorously enough to give himself a sprain. Gratefully, he stepped out into the night and took the long way home to stretch his muscles.   
  
His path took him past the few restaurants still open, with the sounds of music, and glasses clinking, people talking, doors swinging shut. And, as the night wore on, the requisite drunkards cast out into the street to go home and sober up.  
  
Roy found himself walking along some yards behind one of them, watching as the man swayed his way down the street. When someone approached the drunk, at first he thought perhaps they were friends, the sober man taking pity on the drunkard. But at the first sucker punch, he realized Amestris was populated with the kind of greedy fool that would take on even a man well over six feet tall if he thought he had the advantage.  
  
"Hey, stop!" he shouted, breaking into a jog. The drunkard managed to land a good right hook, but he moved slowly, as if through water. It was Roy's witnessing that frightened the mugger away, not the drunkard's swing.  
  
The drunkard leaned against the nearest building, coughing, his arm tucked around his ribs. Roy looked from the retreating mugger and instead turned to the drunk man. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked, then stopped when he recognized that face.  
  
"Ed?" he breathed, then closed the distance between them to tuck his arm around Ed's shoulders to help him stay upright. "What the hell happened to you?"   
  
"Oh, hell," groaned Ed. "Really?"   
  
Roy recoiled at the reek of alcohol rolling off of him and said, "Never mind. Come on."  
  
When he walked, Ed stayed under his arm, muttering, "Of course 's you."  
  
"You certainly could have had worse luck," said Roy dryly. "How much have you had?"  
  
"More'n I should've, 'n' not enough." Ed tucked his arm around his ribs a little better and coughed again. "Should've dodged that."  
  
"I'm not sure how more would have helped you with that one." Roy turned them down the next side street. "It's not much further."  
  
"Where?" asked Ed, though he let himself be led.  
  
"To my apartment. I'm assuming that you don't want to go back to your hotel like this. Or to run into any other helpful people like your friend a few moments ago."   
  
"Fuck." Ed hung his head. "Fuck, Mus-Mustang."  
  
Roy snorted. "Just keep walking."  He adjusted his grip, his fingertips dragging against Ed's coat with the roughness of his gloves. Habit kept him armed as often as he was clothed, so the flint cloth wore the prints from his fingertips.  
  
"When we get there," he said, "you're going to drink water and coffee, and lay down."  
  
Ed grunted. "Y'r g'na laugh about this."  
  
"I'm not going to laugh. What I'm going to do is ask you what the hell you were thinking."  
  
"Is'nit wha' y'do when y'r fuckin' _stupid_? You drink, right?" Ed shook his head, swaying dangerously with the motion. "Fuck."  
  
"Hold on," said Roy, putting his free hand on Ed's chest to help him stay up. "What were you stupid over this time -- no. You know what? Tell me when we're inside."  
  
Ed groaned, making a rough noise through his teeth. "It's okay," he mumbled. "I'm s-single. Thassall."  
  
Roy's steps hitched, but he recovered quickly enough. "Huh," he said. And then, "Come on, up these stairs. Take them slowly."   
  
Ed made it up the stairs quietly enough, the concentration required to keep him upright not sparing any strength for his tongue. Once Roy had to lean him against the wall to find his keys, though, Ed grasped again for words.  
  
"Win-win-winry-ry figured it out an' _cried_ all over me," he moaned, clutching at his ribs.  
  
Roy winced, and ignored him long enough to get his door open. Then, he stuffed his keys into his coat and guided Ed into his apartment, past the rows of bookshelves that lined the entry hall. "Come on. Sofa, Ed."  
  
Roy walked him into the library, guiding him down onto the sofa.  
  
Ed laughed, wryly, letting himself be pushed down. "I still _hear_ it," he mumbled. "She's cryin' all th'time. Was gonna marry that girl, and now-- "  
  
"Easy," said Roy softly. "Don't move. I'm going to get some water."  
  
"Fuck," said Ed, hanging his head. His long ponytail fanned over the defeated slope of his shoulders. "Shit. Fuck."  
  
Roy left him, taking slow, careful steps. When he was in the kitchen alone he permitted himself a moment to catch his breath. He couldn't say he'd expected a reunion with either Elric after they'd parted ways, but to have Ed thunder back into his life like this hadn't even made the list of possibilities. He shook his head, and filled the biggest cup he had with water.  
  
When he came back out, Ed hadn't moved. Roy curled Ed's fingers around the cup as he sat beside him on the sofa. "Drink up, Ed."  
  
Ed looked blearily at the cup, then tossed it back like water was something distasteful. He fairly sloshed when he finished, grunting as he set the cup down on the coffee table.   
  
Roy sighed. He unbuttoned his uniform coat and shrugged it off. As he draped it over the arm of the sofa, he said, "Alright, so what happened?"  
  
"Uh," said Ed. He swallowed, like his mouth was dry. "Donno exactly. Was like an - an ambush. Got t'Rush Valley and she kep' askin' crazy things like did I want to marry her an' every time I said yes she got worse until she accused me of-- of."  
  
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose, but then his head just nodded forward. He cradled it in his hands, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Of wantin' men. A-and 's not like 's not true but I was _gonna_ marry 'er. Fuck but she cried. She kept _cryin_ ' until I left and I can't get 'er to _stop_."  
  
"So you're not engaged anymore," said Roy evenly, his hands folded in his lap. "That's hard on a lot of people."  
  
"It's my fault. Fuck. I _said_ I'd marry 'er."  
  
Ed ran his hands through his hair, grabbing good fistfuls of it, ruining the ponytail. The band at the base of his skull couldn't hold up and let some strands loose.  
  
Softly, with sympathy but not pity, Roy said, "You said. So that means she asked you?"  
  
Ed nodded, rubbing one hand over his face again. "Yeah. Yeah. Asked me a hundred times."  
  
"And you said yes. Because?" asked Roy, his voice so steady.  
  
"She's the only girl that'd ever marry me. An' hell, now she won't." Ed shook his head, spreading his legs to better balance himself, leaning his weight on his elbows. "I told 'er she's the girl I like best. What the fuck else did she want?"  
  
With all of Ed's movement, Roy thought it best to stay still, his gloved hands resting folded in his lap. "Did you want to marry her?"  
  
"Who else'm I gonna marry?" asked Ed roughly, shaking his head. It was as good as a negative, an admission of guilt - first for being trapped, then for being released.  
  
Roy pressed his palms together, feeling the sensitivity of the scars on his hands start to flare. "Don't you think it's better for her if you're honest?"  
  
"Fuck off, who asked you," said Ed, raking his hands up into his hair again. "Everything I've _said_ was honest! Y'can't fuckin' accuse me of lyin'."  
  
"So why are you so upset?" asked Roy, still calm as ever. But at the next vicious tug Ed gave his hair, he reached one hand out to touch Ed's wrist, trying to guide him to let go.  
  
Ed winced, almost flinching away, but then twisted his hand to catch Roy's and pull it down into his lap. He held Roy's hand in both of his, running his fingertips over the glove. He traced the seam first, then drew his touch between Roy's finger and thumb. Then matched their palms together.  
  
Roy refused to feel even a tiny hint of frustration that Ed's hands were larger than his. Everything about Ed had gotten bigger, from his hands to the breadth of his shoulders. He'd become the figure of his father, even down to the strength in his jaw.   
  
"Ask _her_ that," said Ed softly. His eyes closed as his fingers mapped Roy's through the glove.  
  
Roy let Ed have his hand. "If you were honest, that was all you could do."  
  
Ed found the roughest patches, the flint at his fingertips. "Right," he said, "Because bein' honest about what I -- wha-- what I want has done _so_ much good."   
  
Roy couldn't help wondering just how much truth there was to Ed's liking men. The curiosity was unfair, made him hate himself just a little. But, then again, if Ed's hands were on Roy's they weren't pulling his hair out. "So what do you want? That's one thing you haven't mentioned at all."   
  
Ed grunted, then keeled forward. But instead of falling off of the sofa, the motion only brought Ed's head down so he could put Mustang's hand to his face, to cover his mouth with spark cloth, to press rough flint fingertips to his cheek. "Who cares," mumbled Ed, muffled and wry.  
  
Roy swallowed his surprise, kept his voice steady as he murmured, "Someone ought to, since apparently you don't. It's your life after all."  
  
Ed curled his hand around Roy's wrist, holding him so loosely that he could pull away if he wanted to. He moved his lips to Roy's thumb and mumbled, "Y'r useless if these'r wet. Even just a small-- small li'l bit."  
  
"Ed," croaked Roy against a dry tongue. He tried to pull his hand back, cursing himself for his sudden racing heart, the bright and treacherous realization of Ed's beauty finally acknowledged. He'd done so well refusing that thought, even as Ed had grown into the shape of a man in the years under Roy's command. He'd teased him about it, but like a knowledgeable older brother. He'd never dared want him.  
  
"Ed," he said again, "you should drink more water -- "  
  
His words stumbled when Ed ran his tongue over the pad of Roy's thumb as his hand pulled away.  
  
Ed let go of his wrist and licked his lips, his eyes fluttering softly open. He didn't respond, only brought one hand to his mouth.  
  
"I'm going to get more water," said Roy, rising quickly. He grabbed the cup, but left his coat on the sofa.   
  
Again, he took a moment to gather himself in the kitchen, looking down at his hands. Ed had licked the glove, but the sensation was almost as electric as if he'd touched Roy's skin. Roy swallowed, feeling like a predator. He couldn't shake the image of Ed, battered, mangled at eleven, his lips chapped and unmoving even as Roy shook him.  
  
Ed, thirteen and sobbing in the rain because of a little girl. Ed, flushing at the thought of a beautiful woman.   
  
Ed, drunk in his living room, unabashed about his tongue.   
  
Roy filled the water glass and steadied himself as he returned to the living room. Ed had slumped over to the side, his head on the armrest, his face hidden by the straggle of his bangs. His shoulders were hunched, defeat written in his posture.   
  
Roy sat beside him, swallowing a sigh. "Here," he said, offering the cup.  
  
Ed sat up and accepted the cup, but he groused as he sipped. "I don'need an'more water, y'bastard."   
  
"It's good for you and you know it," said Roy. "You're going to be so hung over you'd wish you were dead. Drink."  
  
Ed grimaced at the water in the glass. "Never gon' wish w's dead. No matter whatever else I fuck up I can't die." He forced a sip, then rubbed at the side of his neck.   
  
"At least there's some sense left in you still," said Roy with a snort. He sat back a little better on the sofa. When his knee touched Ed's thigh, he let it stay. "But what you want is still important."  
  
"Shut up," said Ed, tugging the band out of his hair and swiping it back from his face. "I din't ask you to bring me back here."  
  
"No," said Roy, "but I wasn't going to leave you out there either."  
  
Ed swallowed, and leaned forward to put the glass down on the table. When his grip faltered, Roy leaned forward and caught Ed's hand, helping him set the cup down.  
  
Ed froze, his cheeks flushing darker than the alcohol could color them. He let go of the glass. Roy didn't let go of his hand. It was a sick experiment on Roy's part, but Ed left his hand in Roy's grip.   
  
Roy kept himself steady by talking, though Ed's eyes were glued to Roy's hand around his. "Where were you even coming from this late?"  
  
Ed didn't answer, just watched Roy's hand. His expression was intent, and hungry, a kind Roy had never seen Ed wear. Roy loosened his hold on Ed's hand out of reflex, and the line between Ed's brows deepened.  
  
"What time did you get to the bar, Ed," said Roy softly.   
  
Ed let out a shaky breath. "Nine? Train got in late. Was a - a baby. On th' train. Kept crying."  
  
Roy watched as Ed's breath only grew less steady. "You started drinking on the train, didn't you."  
  
"Yeah, so what," mumbled Ed, twisting his hand against Roy's grip.  
  
Roy tightened it, and Ed settled again. "Damn it, Ed. Were you trying to poison yourself? If you're going to drink like that, the worst thing you can do is go alone." Roy squeezed to punctuate his point, and Ed gasped. It was such a small thing, just a tiny hitch in his breath, but it was there.  
  
"Gonna preach to me now?" mumbled Ed, "Really?"  
  
"You can't do this to yourself," said Roy.  
  
Ed yanked his hand back, glaring as well as he could muster. "Yellin' at me isn't gonna make me any _less_ drunk."  
  
"I'm not yelling."  
  
"Shut up. Shut _up._ " Ed rubbed his hand, kneading at it. "Wha'm I s'posed to do then, Gen-gen'ral?"  
  
Roy said evenly, "Figuring out what you want is a start."  
  
"Fuck off," said Ed, grimacing again. "What d'you know about it."  
  
"Since you haven't said a word on it, nothing," said Roy, keeping his voice even and quiet.   
  
"You're a dick," said Ed. He pushed himself up, tottered briefly, then made his way around the sofa.  
  
"Ed?" asked Roy quietly, watching him stagger.  
  
"All that water's gotta go somewhere," spat Ed, contempt giving him the confidence, apparently, to walk through Roy's apartment like he owned it and shut himself in the bathroom.  
  
Roy sighed, listening for the sound of a cry, or a fall. He counted seconds until the water ran and Ed emerged, standing in the doorway to the library again. "You," he accused, "wanna know what _I_ want."  
  
"Yes," said Roy, turning in his seat. "I would. Considering that you're drunk because of what _other_ people wanted of you, it might be important for you to actually articulate."  
  
Ed winced, then shook his head. "Sh-she. Said she knew 'cause I got too excited over y'r letters," he mumbled, talking to the bookcase over Mustang's shoulder.  
  
Roy stilled, watching as Ed rubbed both hands over his face.  
  
"My letters?" he breathed, and Ed's cheeks burned more brightly.  
  
His letters were Ed's downfall? The simple bits of news addressed to both Ed _and_ his brother? Asking about their work in Xing, relating bits of news about Ishvalans and their progress against Amestrian politics and prejudice. He'd purposefully been careful to keep them devoid of sentiment. Partially because the code he'd used didn't have words for affection, and partially because he knew the boys wouldn't once stand for it.  
  
Ed didn't respond. Roy said, "Ed?"  
  
"What," croaked Ed, not looking at him.   
  
"Tell me what you want," breathed Roy, not fully believing his own mouth.   
  
Ed pushed away from the wall, venom in his expression. "You think this is funny!" He pounded the side of his fist against the wall hard enough to make the books rattle in their shelves.   
  
Roy stayed where he was. "I'm not making fun of you."  
  
"Right," said Ed, turning away, heading for the door.  
  
"Wait," said Roy, getting to his feet, beating him there. He took Ed's arm. "I'm not."  
  
"Then let me go," grit Ed through his teeth, not looking at Roy.  
  
Roy curled his fingers around Ed's arm. "Quit trying to act like I'm the bad guy for once."  
  
Ed's voice held a tinge of desperation when he repeated, "Mustang. Let me go."  
  
Hearing pain on Ed made Roy's grip weaken. "You should stay. If you insist on leaving, let me help you find a room."   
  
Ed shook out of Roy's grip and rubbed his arm. "Fuck off."  
  
"Damn it! Ed, either I am walking you home or you are sleeping it off on my sofa. Pick one."  
  
Ed shoved past him, mumbling, "I'm not spendin' another _second_ \--"   
  
Roy caught his shoulder. "Would you just _stop_?" He sighed and put both his hands on Ed's shoulders, reaching up from behind. "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about anything. Just. For fuck's sake, sit down."  
  
Ed was still for a long moment. Then he sagged, his head drooping until his forehead rested against the door. "Okay. Okay."  
  
Ed let Roy pull him back toward the sofa, let Roy push him down onto the cushions again. He held his own forehead, like his head would fall off if he didn't support it.  
  
"Can I make you coffee?" asked Roy, standing beside him.  
  
Ed shook his head. His answer was rough, heavy with guilt and grief. "I drank enough water. Y'just want me to sleep it off. Right?"   
  
"If you're ready for that," agreed Roy quietly. "But some aspirin would probably be a good idea either way."  
  
"Fine," said Ed, putting his face back in his hands. "Whatever you say."  
  
As he left, heading for the bathroom, Roy heard Ed mutter to himself, "Of course it's Mustang. Of fucking course."  
  
Roy swallowed a sigh. He fetched the pills, and when he returned, sat by Ed on the sofa. When he held them out, Ed swallowed them with a soft "Thanks."  
  
"How's your head?" he asked.  
  
"Fine. I'm just drunk."  
  
"I figured," said Roy, smiling faintly. He let out a breath, watching Ed, words vying for permission on the tip of his tongue.   
  
The whole evening, he realized, had been a series of rises and falls. Escalating tension, then release. But it had never been Ed backing down, only Roy. Roy, initiating touch, then letting go when Ed had the gall to react to him. Roy, coming close, then pulling away when Ed let him stay.  
  
Roy wondered, then, if what Ed wanted, if what Ed _needed_ was a push.  
  
Ed didn't look at him. "I promise I'll just go to sleep. You don't have to watch me."  
  
"It would make me feel better," murmured Roy. "And - you don't have to worry about any judgment from me on the engagement." He let out a breath. "I know exactly where you're coming from."  
  
Ed went very still for a moment, then turned to him, his eyes narrowed. "Then where do you get off asking me what I want, you ass."  
  
"Because I never heard you say once what it was you wanted," said Roy evenly, though his hands rested in fists on his knees.  
  
Ed's expression didn't soften. "You need it spelled out, huh? Want a signed letter?"  
  
"Sure," said Roy, lifting his chin. "You drunkenly slurred what you'd been _accused_ of, but-- "  
  
Ed gritted his teeth and grabbed Roy's wrist in a hard grip. He sucked two of those rough, flint-coated fingers into his mouth. He winced, but he didn't break eye contact. His expression was a challenge, forcing Roy to acknowledge him, daring Roy to forget.  
  
Roy swallowed, gingerly pulling his fingers from Ed's mouth. He couldn't look away, feeling his own breath shudder in his chest.  
  
"They're no good wet," he breathed, scraping his thumb along Ed's jaw.  
  
"So you can't kill me for tryin'," Ed returned, lifting his chin. "Didn't think you were gonna play stupid so hard."  
  
"It's not about playing stupid, Ed." Roy ran his gloved fingers down Ed's throat, taking in the way it made him shiver. In the back of his head, his better sense asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, but it was overruled by the majority that saw the way the guilt and anguish left Ed's face. "It's about not taking advantage of the drunk guy."  
  
"By makin' him feel like he's fucked up an' you're makin' fun of him? If that's what it's like when you respect me, take advantage. Please." His eyes fluttered shut, then opened again more slowly, staring straight into his eyes.  
  
"I really wasn't trying to make you feel either of those things," Roy murmured, bringing his other hand up to follow Ed's jaw with his other thumb. The way Ed swallowed against the pressure of his fingertips was a dangerous offer, reinforced by the color returning to Ed's cheeks.   
  
Ed licked his lips, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What d'you want, then?"  
  
Roy brushed that smile with his thumb. He ventured, carefully, "Are you asking me to make the hard decisions?"  
  
"Evasive bastard," breathed Ed, but on the last flat 'a' in 'bastard' he caught the end of Roy's gloved thumb with his teeth and swept his tongue over it. His expression went briefly vulnerable, but his teeth were sharp and tight over Roy's glove.  
  
"Just so long as you still like me," said Roy, feeling his own smile broaden. He could do this. He could take the control, this time. He wouldn't make Ed decide. He ran his hand down Ed's throat and then, with a breath out, stood. "There are better places than the sofa."  
  
When Roy took his hand away, Ed moved, and the unsteadiness in him was less about drink than mad desire requited. And perhaps relief. "Show me."  
  
Roy backed away enough to let Ed get to his feet, and pushed Ed along ahead of him with a hand on the small of Ed's back. When they reached the bedroom, he stepped up close enough to speak  against his ear.  
  
"Take the coat off."  
  
Ed obeyed, undoing the buttons in the deliberate manner of a man still unsteady. He rolled his shoulders out of the coat, let it fall to his elbows, and shifted only fractionally away from Roy's hand to pull it off and lay it over his arm.   
  
When the removal of his coat better bared Ed's neck, Roy ran two fingers down the side of it and said, "Now your shoes. Then your belt. Don't turn around."  
  
Ed didn't turn, but he glanced as far to the side as he could, his gaze meeting Roy's briefly before he gave the smallest nod. He bent slowly, putting a hand on the bed for balance, to remove his shoes and kick them under the bed. He rose again to undo his belt, his fingers fumbling on the clasp, then pulled it from its loops and lay it over the coat on his arm.   
  
"Don't move." Roy took the coat and belt from Ed and backed away to lay them over a chair before returning to him, touching his back between his shoulders.   
  
"Pants, now. If you turn, we stop."  
  
Ed huffed out a laugh, sounding amused and tortured at once. Yet, he continued, obedient as a dog. He undid button after button, let the pants fall, stepped carefully from them, and bent to retrieve them. As he rose he lay them, as he had the coat, over his arm.  
  
As before, Roy took them from him, and lay them over the same chair. When he returned, he snaked his arms around Ed, pressing his chest to Ed's back. He began to unbutton Ed's shirt, and though the spark cloth made his progress slow, every rasp of his touch against Ed's undershirt made Ed shiver. Roy could feel Ed's stomach tensing with his glancing touches.   
  
Ed's arms stayed relaxed and loose at his sides. When Roy slid the shirt from his shoulders, he trailed his fingertips down over them. The scar on Ed's right shoulder was just as explosive as Roy remembered, but his right arm was unblemished. Ed hadn't had another fight like the ones he'd endured when he was young. He hadn't ruined his returned arm.  
  
Roy broke, then, and leaned forward to put his mouth on that shoulder, just a press of closed lips to the smooth skin emerging from the scar. That he adored Ed, that he was grateful, had to be clear through his touch. He tossed Ed's shirt toward the chair, and used his hands on Ed's shoulders to turn him toward the bed.  
  
"Lay down. On your back."  
  
Ed let himself be turned, and put his hands down on the bed first before turning onto his back. Though he was drunk, though he nearly trembled, he was still so mindful. He was careful with his automail leg, leaving his foot on the floor. He was careful with his right arm, still treating it like it was a weapon. He wore his care like it was natural, aware at every second that he still carried steel in the guise of a limb.  
  
Roy leaned over him, then, putting one knee on the bed. He took both of Ed's wrists in his gloved hands and guided them up above his head. He pressed one of Ed's hands on top of the other, careful not to put his palms together. He didn't dare mock the stance Ed used to take, didn't dare remind him of the alchemy he'd given up. Roy set his hands together and held them down, looking into Ed's eyes as he said, "Don't move them."  
  
Roy could almost feel the need rolling off of Ed in the way he gave himself up so readily, practically begging not to have to choose.  
  
"Don't move at all," he said, a promise to be that control, for just a little while.  
  
Ed swallowed, then nodded, his muscles relaxing. When Roy let go of him, he just pressed his cheek to the side of his arm and watched him.  
  
Roy backed away from the bed. He only took a moment to take it in, the vision of Ed pliant and waiting, in a too-white undershirt and shorts that did little to contain his arousal. Ed, with his arms above his head because Roy put them there.  
  
Roy remained within Ed's line of sight as he undressed, as deliberate with his motions as Ed had been, laying his own clothes over Ed's on the chair. When he was in nothing but his boxers he returned to the bed. Deliberately, he removed the gloves he'd been wearing all day and reached into the bedside table to find a clean pair.   
  
It was odd to be so naked except for the gloves, but he could feel Ed's eyes on him, and the shiver that ran through Ed when he at last ran a single finger down Ed's throat made the oddness worth the effort. Ed watched him like a starving man.  
  
"Put your hands on the headboard," Roy said softly, reaching up to straighten Ed's elbows. "I want you to keep them there."  
  
Ed squirmed up another half inch to make sure he could reach. When his palms were flat to the wood, he gave Roy a half-smile.  
  
Roy found himself smiling back, reassured. There was nothing he could force Ed into that Ed didn't want. Ed didn't _work_ like that.  
  
"I'm just going to do what seems like a good idea," he said. He pressed his palms together, then spread them over Ed's chest, making his shirt fall away with a warm crackle of alchemy.  
  
Ed gasped, arching up toward it. Rough and quiet, he breathed, "Forgot y'could do that."  
  
"It's taken some getting used to," agreed Roy, running his hands down Ed's chest. Ed's body was a fantastic network of scars, some Roy knew, some he didn't. The most formidable was a patch above his left hip. Roy traced the edge of it slowly, trying to guess its age.  
  
"Got it fightin' Kimbley," said Ed softly. "Doesn't hurt."  
  
Roy looked back up at Ed's face and nodded. "Good."  
  
He climbed the rest of the way onto the bed, his knees on either side of Ed's hips. He rested back on his heels over Ed's thighs. Ed's breath caught, but he managed, "Yeah."  
  
Roy reached out and ran his hands down Ed's sides. He followed the lines of Ed's ribs back up to his collarbones and his throat. Ed's arms flexed as he pressed his hands more tightly to the headboard. He arched within the confines of Roy's legs, pressing up against his thighs. Every breath escalated into a soft groan, some shuddering, some soft.  
  
Every curve, every scar was equal under Roy's hands. He followed Ed's lines to his shoulders, to the filed-off metal stud at the edge of his right collarbone. Ed began an explanation, but stuttered to a halt when Roy moved on. Ed panted as Roy's rough touch drew excruciatingly gentle lines down his belly.  
  
Slowly, Roy teased at the edge of Ed's boxers, stretching the fabric back, then laying it flat again. He dragged his fingers through the pale golden path of hair that started at Ed's navel, tracing it back down to the border of his underwear.   
  
Ed's hips jerked without rhythm, little desperate twitches and shudders. When Ed lifted his head to look down at Roy again, Roy pressed his palms together and lay them on Ed's hips, transmuting away his boxers just as he had Ed's undershirt.   
  
As the ribbons of fabric fell away from Ed's hips, he groaned and dug his teeth into his lip.  
  
"I said you couldn't move, not that you had to be quiet," said Roy, low and rough. He traced his fingertips over Ed's hipbones, following them to the hollows just above his thighs.   
  
Ed shivered. "Y-you don't say much either, do you."  
  
"Usually when I talk you yell at me," Roy pointed out, even as he ran his thumbs along the creases of Ed's thighs where they met his hips.   
  
Ed licked his lips, spreading his legs as far as Roy would allow. "N-never stopped you before."  
  
Roy ran his thumbs back up, slow and deliberate. "No, I don't suppose it has."  
  
The way Ed shivered was intoxicating, and Roy found himself running his fingers back over Ed's belly just to get him to react. He was careful, when he leaned forward, never to brush Ed's cock.   
  
Ed only groaned, though he gave a startled cry when Roy's fingers found his nipples, and again, harsher, when they twisted. "Fuck!"  
  
Roy was briefly merciless, rubbing flint-coated thumbs over Ed's nipples to feel him squirm and buck. The flush in Ed's cheeks had trailed down his throat and blossomed over his chest. His belly twitched with his breath and his cock begged for Roy's touch, but Roy ignored it, his eyes locked on Ed's face.  
  
Ed screwed his eyes shut, panting openmouthed, but he didn't deny Roy, didn't hide from him. The acceptance in his expression drew Roy down to him, brought Roy's hands back to Ed's throat. When Roy leaned over him, his clothed cock rubbed over Ed's hip and made them both groan. Ed licked his lips and pressed his hands more firmly to the headboard, and all Roy could do was bend to kiss him, following Ed's tongue with his own.  
  
Ed opened right up for him, sucking at Roy's tongue, drawing it further into the heat of his mouth. He arched up against Roy, rocking his hips until Roy pinned them back down with one hand, grinding rough gloves against tender skin. Roy forced his leverage, pinning Ed and refusing to let Ed pull him deeper, biting at his lips to make him gasp.   
  
Ed was greedy, arching up against him, sucking at his tongue, writhing under him. He moaned, following Roy every time he pulled back until he hit the end of his reach. With his palms pressed to the headboard, Ed could only buck to try to bring Roy back to him.   
  
Roy ground his thumb into Ed's hip, leaving the beginnings of red burns but Ed only pushed harder, pressing up against Roy's hand.  
  
So Roy let go.   
  
Ed shuddered, and lay back flat, pressing his face to his arm to try and hide a grimace. He panted, screwing his eyes shut.  
  
"Easy," said Roy, keeping his hands out of Ed's range. He leaned down and kissed his jaw. "Easy."  
  
When Ed relented, just ran his tongue over Roy's lip, just _received_ , Roy hummed his approval. He leaned back just enough to pull one glove off and tossed it to the side. His bare hand wrapped around Ed's cock and squeezed at the base, so Ed hissed through his teeth.  
  
When Roy stroked him, firm and slow, Ed shuddered, nearly keening. He pressed his face to the side of his arm, his hair curling in the sweat on his face.   
  
"S-stop," he moaned, and Roy watched as Ed's muscles tensed in a wave moving outward from his hips. Ed's fingers curled against the headboard.  
  
"Roy, _Roy_ , stop-- I ca-can't."  
  
Roy smiled. "No," he said, and only moved faster, his hand firm around Ed's cock. "I want to see you."  
  
Ed bucked, gasping. His hips rocked into Roy's hand, a little too fast, a little too desperate. Roy said, "Show me," and Ed shook, and came, crying out a word that was half Roy's name and half a strangled curse.  
  
Roy groaned with him, holding himself together with willpower alone. He stroked over Ed's cock, drawing out every shudder, watching Ed paint his own chest in hot lines of come.   
  
He stroked until Ed moaned again, until he could feel Ed shiver beneath him, too sensitive. Then he drew just one gloved finger down Ed's cock.  
  
Ed jerked, his head falling back as he cried out, but still he kept his hands above his head.   
  
Roy did it again, and again Ed shouted. His spent cock twitched against his belly.   
  
Roy took Ed's balls in his gloved hand and cradled them so gently. Ed hiccuped, shuddering. As Roy bent to lick the come from Ed's chest, Ed arched up into it and began to pant again. Roy took his time cleaning Ed up, mouthing the scars he'd touched before.   
  
He gave Ed's balls the gentlest squeeze as he sucked the head of Ed's cock into his mouth. Ed nearly sobbed, falling into a low, breathless moan as Roy licked his cock clean. His chest heaved, fighting for air. Without the cage of Roy's thighs, Ed could spread his legs further, and Roy took his time torturing the tender skin Ed had exposed with his glove. He followed his fingers with the soothing heat of his tongue, leaving Ed's skin red and slick in his wake.  
  
Against Ed's thigh, Roy murmured, "If I tell you to roll over, can you take it?"  
  
" _Fuckyes_ ," mumbled Ed as quickly as he could.  
  
"Oh. You're sure?" asked Roy, his tone hot and dark. "I'm not your first?"  
  
Ed flushed impossibly brighter. He lifted his head to look down at Roy and swallowed hard. "No."  
  
A tiny, little possessive streak in Roy reared its ugly head and hissed lightning down Roy's spine. But the greater part of him was relieved to say, "Good. Roll over, then."  
  
That little possessive streak relaxed a little when just that order made Ed's cock twitch.   
  
He moved back, then helped, gentling Ed onto his elbows and knees, careful of the auto mail. He kept Ed's hands on the headboard, let him put his forehead on his arms, rubbed circles onto his back to help push him into the correct posture.   
  
Ed settled so readily, his legs partly spread, his cock hanging heavy between them, already recovering.  
  
"Don't move," ordered Roy, moving off the bed. He managed to keep his voice even, but guiding his boxers down over his own aching cock was a feat. He curled his hand around the base of it and held on, willing his control, but it was so _difficult_ with Ed, so still, so pliant, just _waiting_ for him. He had lube in the bedside table, and he took a moment longer to focus as he retrieved it and coated the fingers of his bare hand before he set the bottle down.  
  
He returned, curling his gloved hand around Ed's hip. He pushed him a little further forward, forcing him to lift his ass higher, as he ran two bare, slick fingers down the cleft of Ed's ass.   
  
Ed hissed, his shoulders flexing as he took a deep breath to relax. Roy waited until he'd inhaled, then slid one finger inside of him, deep as it could go.   
  
Ed shuddered, but didn't pull back, took Roy's finger, and a second, and only moaned when he spread them. Roy fingered him slowly, like he had all the time in the world to prepare Ed, like Ed would bear it and wait for him.  
  
At the same time, he drew rough circles on Ed's hip with his gloved hand, squeezing him in time. Grounding him, forcing Ed to remember that it was _Roy_ behind him. The way Ed moaned his name cemented it, "Roy," and "yeah," and "come on" and "do it already" all running together as Roy added a third finger. He made Ed shake, made him spread his legs further and beg with his body, with the curve of his back.  
  
By the time Roy pulled his fingers free, his breathing was uneven as well. He bit the side of his tongue as he slicked his cock, his gloved hand curling vise-tight over Ed's hip. He groaned when he began to press into Ed, too honest to swallow or silence.  
  
Ed answered him. "Yeah. Yeah."  
  
Roy curled over Ed, bottoming out, kneading Ed's hip. He groaned, pressing his mouth to Ed's shoulder, forcing himself to be aware of the moment, of Ed beneath him, of every breath he took. He struggled not to come, counted Ed's breaths, listened to the quiet moans that kept slipping from him.   
  
When their breathing matched, Ed said, "Roy."  
  
"Ed," Roy answered, arching a little. His hips rolled so slightly when he spoke, the first crack in his control.  
  
Ed swallowed, his voice thick. "Roy. _Move._ "  
  
Roy bit down on Ed's shoulder and went as still as he could. Ed growled, digging his fingers against the headboard. "Damn it," he hissed, "Roy. Come _on._ "  
  
Roy waited, letting his own need build even as he fought for his control. He knew the decision was _his_ and Ed would just have to take it. Still, when he moved, he groaned roughly enough to give himself away. He rolled his hips, just once.  
  
Ed took a breath of relief, then whined when Roy stopped, muttering unintelligible swears into his arms. But he didn't buck, didn't grind back. He just waited.  
  
Roy kissed him between his shoulders, straightened up, and began to move. He rocked into Ed, held him still with one gloved hand, watching Ed's back relax as one thrust became two, as he realized Roy wasn't going to stop.   
  
It was about connection, then, the feeling of heat and friction and the way that Roy's shifting grip on Ed's hip made him groan louder every time. Ed babbled useless half-words and Roy's name and sudden, bright cries when Roy's angle was perfect, each time an unmerciful surprise. Ed trembled in Roy's grasp, his head knocking against his hands on the headboard, his hair clinging to the sweat between his shoulders.   
  
Roy pushed harder, faster, curling forward over Ed to curl his bare hand over Ed's cock and jerk him. His grip was so unsteady it was more like giving Ed something to fuck in return, but Ed moaned at the touch alone.   
  
Ed gave up another cry as he came again, the sound ripping out of him like it hurt. Roy held on, barely able to move as Ed tightened around him. He managed a rough thrust, pushing as deep into Ed as he could before he too was coming, bent over Ed's back, his mouth pressed to Ed's skin. His gloved hand dug into Ed's hip tight enough to leave bruises in rings around the burns.  
  
Ed moaned, his shoulders bunched up and pressing back against Roy's teeth, shuddering through his orgasm and then slowly, slowly down. Still he moaned, soft little sounds with every breath, noises tumbling out of him unfiltered.   
  
Roy remained for a long moment pressed against him, breathless. He could only groan Ed's name, soft and rough.   
  
On cue, Ed pulled one hand back from the headboard, found Roy's wrist, and slipped his fingers into Roy's glove. Ed released him from his position of control with that one touch, and almost gratefully Roy let his hands relax. He pulled out of Ed, wincing as Ed groaned, then just lay beside him.  
  
Ed found his gloved hand again, tugged it free, dropped the glove onto the floor beside the bed. He looked at Roy with glazed eyes and brought Roy's fingers to his mouth. He ran them over his lips, his cheek, then let Roy's hand lay there.  
  
Roy tucked his fingers around the back of Ed's neck. "You're going to stay tomorrow," he breathed.   
  
Ed sighed, soft and exhausted. "I'll stay," he agreed, and closed his eyes.  
  
Roy kissed his shoulder. Ed passed out under his arm. He stayed unconscious, even when Roy left him to clean up, and returned, pushing Ed around to clean him up as well.   
  
The bruises Roy's glove had left on Ed's hips were spectacular reds and blues, the little scrapes running down his belly already healing to a faint pink. But Ed slept, his expression relaxed.  
  
Roy lay beside him again and tucked Ed's face up against his neck. He told himself it was so he could feel it if Ed took a turn for the worse in the night. He fell asleep too soon after that, his cheek pressed to Ed's hair.


End file.
